After briefly talking with Nathan, both Servilia and Fulvia eventually retreated, though it was clear from the lingering looks they cast over their shoulders that leaving his side was the last thing either woman truly wanted to do. They would have gladly spent every remaining hour at his side, savoring his presence for as long as they possibly could before he vanished from their lives once more. But they were both pragmatic enough, experienced enough in the complex social dynamics of Roman high society, to understand that they couldn’t monopolize him forever—not when so many others had their own claims on his ti, their own farewells to make.
Servilia, in particular, had pressing matters demanding her attention.
She was still in the delicate process of regaining favor among the other senators, carefully rebuilding the network of alliances and respect that had been so thoroughly damaged by her previous liaison with Julius Caesar. The scandal had tainted her reputation considerably, painting her as a woman of questionable judgnt and dubious loyalty. Whispers had followed her through every corridor, snide comnts delivered behind raised hands at every gathering she attended.
The revelation that Nathan favored her—delivered by Crassus himself with all the weight his position commanded—had certainly helped matters considerably. The senators who had been so quick to condemn her suddenly found reasons to smile in her direction, to include her in conversations they would have pointedly excluded her from re days before. Fear of offending Septimius, of earning the displeasure of Ro’s greatest champion, had a remarkably clarifying effect on people’s priorities.
But Servilia was too proud, too independent, to be satisfied with respect born purely from association.
She didn’t want to be known simply as "Septimius’s woman," protected only by the shield of his na and reputation. That kind of influence was superficial, hollow—dependent entirely on his continued favor and presence. The mont he left Ro, the mont his protection beca more theoretical than imdiate, that false respect would crumble like sun-dried clay.
No, what she needed was to genuinely reignite the authentic respect they had all held toward her before the scandal—the respect she had earned through her own intelligence, her own political acun, her own careful cultivation of alliances and favors. She needed them to rember why they had valued her counsel, why they had sought her opinion on matters of importance, why she had been considered one of the most formidable won in Ro long before Septimius had ever arrived in their ti.
It would take work. It would take careful conversation, strategic positioning, and the kind of subtle political maneuvering that she had always excelled at. But Servilia was more than capable of the task. She had clawed her way to prominence once before; she could do it again.
As for Fulvia, she also departed after a few more monts of hesitation, making her way across the hall to join her father’s side.
Nathan’s words had struck deeper than he might have realized, cutting through the playful facade she usually maintained to reach sothing more vulnerable beneath. Servilia’s counsel had reinforced the impact, adding weight and maternal wisdom to Nathan’s more direct challenge.
Until now, Fulvia had been content to drift through life with the careless confidence of youth and privilege, playing gas of seduction and influence without much thought for the future beyond the next party, the next lover, the next mont of excitent. She had treated her life like an extended celebration, never quite confronting the reality that eventually, the music would stop and she would need to have built sothing more substantial than pleasant mories and a reputation for beauty.
But if she truly wanted to have a child—and she was surprised to discover that she did, more than she had expected—then perhaps it was ti to stop playing and start building. Perhaps it was ti to secure her own future, to establish herself as sothing more than Fulvius’s beautiful daughter who flirted with senators and made witty observations at banquets.
She wanted to be able to face her child with pride soday, to offer them more than just a famous na and a comfortable life. She wanted to be soone worthy of respect in her own right, soone who had accomplished things that mattered.
The decision crystallized as she walked, each step carrying her further from Nathan and closer to a future she was only beginning to envision clearly.
Fulvius, who as one of Ro’s most prominent leaders was currently engaged in animated discussion with a cluster of senators about the upcoming changes to provincial governance, looked genuinely surprised when his daughter appeared at his elbow. His eyebrows rose, questions forming in his eyes even as pleasure spread across his weathered features.
He was obviously delighted to see her there, standing at his side where she belonged as the future heiress of his house and na. He had extended the invitation countless tis before, practically begging her on occasion to take part in these political gatherings, to learn the intricate dance of senatorial politics that would soday fall to her to navigate. Each ti, she had refused with varying degrees of politeness, finding excuses or simply vanishing to pursue her own entertainnts.
But today, it seed, sothing had shifted. Today she had experienced a change of mind—or perhaps more accurately, a change of heart.
Ro itself had transford dramatically in recent months, reshaped by Nathan’s influence and the magical forces he had brought into their world. The old certainties had crumbled, replaced by new possibilities and new dangers that required new ways of thinking. If Ro was changing, evolving into sothing different from what it had been, then perhaps she needed to change as well. Perhaps she needed to evolve alongside the city she called ho, or risk being left behind by the tide of history.
Fulvius caught her eye and smiled warmly, gesturing for her to join the conversation. Whatever questions he had about her sudden appearance could wait. For now, it was enough that she was here.
anwhile, Nathan found himself with barely a mont of solitude before another figure approached through the milling crowd of guests and dignitaries.
Arsinoe moved toward him with a grace that was still finding its footing in Roman surroundings, her steps slightly hesitant as though she hadn’t quite adjusted to her new circumstances. She had been released from imprisonnt—liberated from that cold cell where she had languished as a prisoner of war—and was now being treated as an honored guest, afforded all the courtesy and respect due to Cleopatra’s younger sister and a princess of Amun Ra in her own right.
The transformation must have felt surreal. From prisoner to privileged guest in the span of days. Ti truly did advance quickly when fate decided to turn its wheel.
"Septimius," she called out softly as she drew near, her voice carrying a mixture of nervousness and sothing warr, more grateful.
Nathan turned his attention to her fully, his gaze taking in her appearance with quiet appreciation. She looked sowhat awkward in the Roman tunic she wore, the unfamiliar garnt sitting strangely on her fra as though she hadn’t quite mastered the art of draping it properly. The style was so different from the flowing Egyptian fashions she was accustod to, the fabric moving differently, sitting differently against her body.
But despite the awkwardness, despite her obvious unfamiliarity with Roman dress, she looked genuinely beautiful. The simple white fabric contrasted strikingly with her tan skin—that rich, sun-kissed complexion that marked her as a daughter of the Nile rather than the Tiber. The tunic’s clean lines sohow emphasized rather than concealed her natural elegance, and her dark hair, styled in a compromise between Amun Ra and Roman fashion, frad a face that was both delicate and strong.
"Arsinoe," Nathan acknowledged with a slight nod, his expression warming with genuine friendliness. "You’ve been released, and now you’re being treated as a highly important guest. Quite the reversal of fortune—from prison cell to honored accommodation. Tis certainly do advance quickly when circumstances change."
Arsinoe’s lips curved into a small giggle, the sound light and musical despite the weight of everything she had endured. "I should thank my sister for that, of course. Cleopatra has always been protective of , whatever our differences might have been." She paused, her blue eyes—so striking against her darker complexion—eting his with knowing warmth. "But I’m quite certain you played a significant part in securing my release as well. Perhaps even the most significant part."
"I did promise you I would get you out of that prison," Nathan replied simply, as though it had been the most natural thing in the world to move heaven and earth to keep a promise to a forr enemy. "I don’t make a habit of breaking my word."
"Yes, you did..." Arsinoe nodded, her smile growing softer, more genuine, touched with emotion that she didn’t quite manage to conceal. "You didn’t have to go that far for soone like . I was your enemy once. Most n would have been content to let rot in that cell, or worse."
"You are Cleopatra’s sister," Nathan replied, his tone matter-of-fact but not dismissive. "And beyond that, I like you."
The words hung in the air between them, simple but weighted with sincerity.
He ant it genuinely—he liked her as a person, admired the lengths she had been willing to go to in order to protect her family and preserve the bonds that mattered to her. She had ultimately failed to nd the relation between her sister and brother, had been captured and imprisoned and stripped of her power, but the courage and determination she had displayed throughout it all had earned his respect. Loyalty like that, even misguided loyalty, was rare enough to be valuable.
Arsinoe’s reaction was imdiate and unmistakable. A deep blush spread across her cheeks, the color visible even against her tanned skin, rising from her neck to flood her face with warmth. Her blue eyes, those startling eyes that seed to capture light like polished gems, quivered slightly as emotions she clearly hadn’t expected to feel washed through her.
"T...Then..." she stamred slightly, her usual composure fractured by the directness of his words. She took a small breath, steadying herself before continuing. "Then I heard you’re leaving today? That this is... that you won’t be staying in Ro?"
The hope in her voice was carefully restrained, but it was there—the unspoken wish that perhaps the rumors were wrong, that perhaps he might remain longer, that perhaps this wasn’t goodbye quite yet.
"In a few hours," Nathan confird gently, not wanting to give her false hope but also not wanting to be unnecessarily harsh about the reality.
"Then I suppose the next ti we will see each other will be at Alexandria, when you co to visit?" Arsinoe asked, her voice carrying a mixture of hope and resignation. The question was simple enough on its surface, but beneath it lay the unspoken acknowledgnt that their paths were diverging now, that whatever fragile connection had ford between them during her imprisonnt would have to survive the distance and ti that separated Ro from Amun Ra.
"Likely yes," Nathan confird with a nod, his expression honest and straightforward. There was no point in offering false promises or vague reassurances. Alexandria would be his next destination when matters called him to Amun Ra, and that was when their paths would cross again.
Arsinoe’s hands fidgeted slightly with the fabric of her tunic, her fingers working at the unfamiliar material as though the motion helped her process the swirl of emotions she was clearly experiencing. When she spoke again, her voice had dropped to sothing softer, more vulnerable than the confident princess she usually projected.
"I don’t know how to thank you for what you’ve done for my sister and ..." She said awkwardly, the words stumbling slightly as though gratitude of this magnitude was difficult to articulate properly. "You’ve given us both so much—freedom, safety, a future we might not have had otherwise. I’m not sure any words are adequate to express what that ans."
The sincerity in her voice was unmistakable, genuine gratitude radiating from every syllable.
"Just be by your sister’s side," Nathan replied simply, as though the answer required no contemplation at all. "That’s all the thanks I need, Arsinoe. Stand with Cleopatra. Support her."
Arsinoe’s blue eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across her delicate features. Whatever response she had been expecting, it clearly wasn’t sothing so straightforward, so uncomplicated by demands or expectations of personal gain.
Nathan continued before she could formulate a response, his voice taking on a more serious tone that commanded her full attention. "She had to kill her own brother, Arsinoe. Whatever else Ptolemy XIII was—however much of a threat he posed, however justified her actions might have been—that’s still a wound that cuts deep. It changes sothing fundantal inside a person."
He paused, letting the weight of those words settle between them.
"She’s beco quite distrustful as a result, and in many ways that’s a good trait for a ruler to have. Paranoia keeps pharaohs alive. Suspicion prevents betrayal. But it also isolates." His gaze held hers steadily, making certain she understood the importance of what he was saying. "Besides Apollodorus, she’s going to find it genuinely hard to trust anyone in Alexandria. The court will be full of sycophants and potential traitors, people whose loyalty shifts with the political winds. She needs soone she can rely on absolutely—soone bound to her by blood rather than ambition. Be that person for her. Be by her side, not as a subject or an advisor, but as family."
A smile blood across Arsinoe’s face, genuine and warm and touched with sothing that might have been relief. The request—if it could even be called that—resonated with sothing deep inside her, aligned perfectly with instincts she had been suppressing during the complicated years of their rivalry.
"My sister is really lucky to have you..." she said softly, the words carrying layers of aning beyond their simple surface. "Truly, genuinely lucky."
She ant it with complete sincerity. Despite everything that had happened, despite the wars and the conflicts and the political upheavals that had torn their family apart, she was genuinely glad—almost overwhelmingly so—that Cleopatra had sohow, against all odds and expectations, fallen in love with a man. And not just any man, but soone as powerful, as understanding, as fiercely loyal as Nathan proved himself to be ti and again.
Her sister deserved that kind of devotion. Amun Ra deserved that kind of champion. And Arsinoe found herself grateful, perhaps for the first ti since her capture, that fate had brought Septimius into their lives.
"What are you doing here instead of resting?"
The sharp voice cut through the mont like a blade, familiar and commanding and carrying just a hint of sisterly exasperation.
Arsinoe flinched visibly, her entire body jerking slightly in surprise as she quickly stepped aside, making space for Cleopatra who had materialized seemingly from nowhere with the silent grace of a hunting cat.
"S...Sister, you scared ," Arsinoe stamred, one hand pressed against her chest as though to calm her suddenly racing heart. "You can’t just appear like that without warning!"
Cleopatra’s expression remained impassive, though there might have been the faintest hint of amusent dancing in amber at her younger sister’s reaction. She stood there with the kind of regal bearing that seed effortless, every inch the Queen of Egypt even here in Ro’s senate halls wearing borrowed Roman garnts.
"We are leaving in a couple of hours," Cleopatra stated matter-of-factly, her gaze sweeping over Arsinoe with the assessing eye of an older sister who had spent years learning to read every nuance of her sibling’s expressions. "Or did you happen to develop so fondness for Ro during your stay? Perhaps you’d prefer to remain here rather than return to Alexandria?"
The question was delivered with deliberate archness, clearly designed to provoke a reaction.
"How would I ever like this place!" Arsinoe shot back imdiately, her voice rising with indignation that was both genuine and slightly performative. She grumbled under her breath.
"She is just eager to go back to Alexandria and stand at her beloved sister’s side," Nathan interjected smoothly, his tone carrying just enough gentle humor to defuse the building tension without mocking either woman. "Isn’t that right, Arsinoe?"
"Is that so..." Cleopatra’s gaze shifted to Arsinoe, one elegant eyebrow arching in question even as sothing that might have been pleasure flickered across her features. Arsinoe’s cheeks flushed pink once more, the blush returning with a vengeance as she found herself suddenly unable to et her sister’s eyes directly.
Cleopatra didn’t press the matter, however. Whatever she thought about this developnt, whatever emotions stirred beneath her carefully maintained composure, she kept them locked away behind the mask of queenly authority. Instead, she turned her full attention to Nathan, and when she spoke again, her voice had shifted—becoming softer, more personal, stripped of the sharp edges she had wielded against her sister.
"When can I expect to see you again?" She asked, and there was no mistaking the genuine desire in that question. This wasn’t political inquiry or strategic planning. This was a woman asking when she might see the man she loved, pure and simple.
"It will depend on circumstances," Nathan replied honestly, not wanting to make promises he might not be able to keep. "Could be a few months, could be longer. There are matters I need to attend to and so screw looses to fix."
Cleopatra absorbed this information with the sa stoic grace she applied to all disappointing news, her expression barely shifting. But before Nathan could say anything more, before the mont could settle into lancholy, she spoke again—and this ti, her words sent visible shockwaves through both Arsinoe and Apollodorus, who had been standing silently nearby.
"It’s very likely that I will be expecting a child," Cleopatra announced suddenly, her tone as casual as if she were discussing the weather or the quality of the wine being served. "And I am intending to keep it. I wanted you to know that now, rather than learning it later through ssengers or rumors."
Arsinoe’s eyes went impossibly wide, her mouth actually dropping open in shock. Apollodorus, normally the picture of stoic composure, looked equally stunned, his carefully neutral expression cracking to reveal genuine surprise beneath.
"I know," Nathan replied simply, a warm smile spreading across his face that seed to banish any uncertainty Cleopatra might have harbored about his reaction.
And he did know—or at least, he knew enough about Cleopatra to have anticipated exactly this decision. She was thinking strategically, as she always did, planning several moves ahead on the great ga board of politics and power. The faster she produced an heir, the better it would be for her position. A child would cent her legitimacy as Queen and Pharaoh of Amun Ra, would give Amun RA a future to rally around, would make it significantly more difficult for any rivals to challenge her claim to the throne.
It was brilliant politics. It was also deeply personal, a choice that went beyond re strategy to touch sothing more fundantal about who Cleopatra was and what she wanted from life.
"Tell when it happens—when you know for certain," Nathan said, his voice taking on that sa note of absolute promise he had used with Servilia earlier. "I will be there for the birth. You have my word on that, Cleopatra. I won’t miss it."
"I expect you to be there, of course," Cleopatra replied, a genuine chuckle escaping her lips—a rare sound, warm and unguarded in a way she seldom allowed herself to be in public. "I wouldn’t forgive you if you missed the birth of your own child, Septimius. That would be utterly unacceptable."
The mont hung between them, intimate despite the public setting, charged with unspoken emotions that neither needed to articulate fully.
Then Cleopatra turned with fluid grace, the conversation clearly concluded in her mind. She gave a subtle gesture to Arsinoe—a small motion of her hand that was simultaneously an invitation and a command, asking her younger sister to follow while leaving no doubt that she expected compliance.
Arsinoe hesitated for only a heartbeat, casting one last glance at Nathan that seed to carry both gratitude and goodbye, before hurrying to fall into step beside Cleopatra. Apollodorus followed in their wake, his massive fra moving with surprising silence as the three of them made their way across the hall toward wherever Cleopatra had decided they needed to be.
Nathan watched them go with a small smile.
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